The Game of Snow and Fire
by Shropslass
Summary: The love affair between Daenerys and Jon. Tyrion is conflicted with emotions. Director Alan Taylor said George R.R. Martin said when filming Season 1, "That it really is all about Dany and Jon. I was surprised because I thought, well Robb Stark's going to be king next. But it was absolutely clear to him that the whole story was coming down to this partnership."
1. Chapter 1

Fire and Ice.

They lay together, flesh on flesh and her ice blue eyes stare back at him. He drinks her in, feels her fingers dig into his back as she tilts her head, eyes closed now, breathing deeply. He wants to become part of her, fill her, tame the dragon spirit that moves within her like an invisible creature. She whispers in his ear, strange murmurings, a language he doesn't understand. She is fire queen to his ice king, she is everything that he wants.

"Jon - -"

"Daenerys?"

She cannot speak, only gasps escape her mouth. He is master now. He feels her hands in his hair, pulling him down to her.

Outside the sea is undulating, rolling their bodies gently on the bed, on their own voyage of discovery. He thinks of all the things he has experienced in his past, but nothing compares to this. Here, now. He kisses her deeply, loving the sweetness of her mouth, the regular motion of the sea, the bed, building like a storm about to break. He feels it as she wraps her limbs around him, words escaping her lips like curses.

He wants to fill her with his love.

Outside, Tyrion waits. He hears the soft gasps and moans. His heart is heavy, but he is glad for them. Daenerys will need an heir. The witch's prophesy was wrong. The child will be beautiful and strong, he will rule the seven kingdoms. He will bring peace.

It is a small price to pay for this heart-ache. Tyrion steadies himself as the ship rolls, fighting back the pain as the sound of their ecstasy reaches him. He turns away.

She is his queen, he must remember that, but as he makes his way back down the dark passageway, he allows himself the luxury of a moment of self-pity. If he had been a different man, stronger, more handsome, would she have favoured him, loved him? He beats his fist against the wall.

How strange life is. All the paths that have lead him here. Killing his father, turning his back on his own kin. All for her.

As he reaches for the jug of wine, he tells himself that it has all been worth it. He must believe that. But now, the sweet oblivion that only wine can bring, beckons to him. He toasts his queen, shutting out the tormenting images of Jon Snow entwined on the bed with her.

In the chamber, Jon smiles at Daenerys, smoothing her hair back from her face. She traces her fingers lightly down his cheek, then touches his mouth until he playfully pretends to bite them. She laughs.

"I was beginning to think that you didn't like me," she jokes.

"Well now you know that I do."

"It was when you touched Drogon, then I knew."

"What did you know?"

"That we were meant to be together."

Jon nods, trying to look serious, then says honestly, "I was terrified."

"He trusts you, it was - - unusual."

"I don't know what happened, it just seemed the right thing to do."

"It was a sign."

"If you say so."

She snuggles into him and he feels his desire for her returning.

"My dragon queen," he murmurs, kissing her softly.

"No, not here, not now, just a woman, your woman."

"My woman," he repeats pulling her back into his arms.

Outside, a fine sea mist rolls in from the west, shrouding the ship like a veil, but she sails on towards the north, pulled by an invisible string.


	2. Chapter 2

It is morning. Jon watches as Daenerys stretches in the pale light coming through the window, her skin pale and almost translucent. She is like a different creature as she pads in bare feet across the floor and bends to pick up her robe.

"Come back to bed."

She pauses to look at him, hesitating.

"I must meet Tyrian, we have things we must discuss."

"It can wait."

Jon holds out his arms to her in the jumble of sheets, a pleading expression on his face. She cannot resist, she throws down her robe and goes back to join him on the bed. He enfolds her in his arms again and she giggles softly as he kisses her.

There is a knock on the door. Daenerys grabs the sheet and covers herself just as Missandei enters the room with a tray of food.

"Oh, I'm sorry my lady," she says on spotting Jon.

"Do not be sorry," Daenerys says, gesturing for her to leave the food. "I am not."

Missandei nods and smiles, retreating from the room, her eyes on the floor. Both Jon and Daenerys laugh at the same time.

"It will be all around the ship within seconds," Jon says.

"No, Missandei is my faithful handmaid and advisor, she would never speak about me like that."

Jon shrugs, a secretive smile on his lips.

Daenerys playfully hits him and he pulls her into his embrace. They kiss deeply as he feels his desire for her return like a re-lit flame.

On the bridge, Tyrian stares out to sea, squinting into the sun as if rises over the ocean. The gentle rise and fall of the waves make him feel faintly sea-sick after his heavy night of drinking. He knows he must keep his wits about him. He peers up at the sky, shielding his eyes, half expecting a dragon to appear out of the morning mist, but he knows that Daenerys hasn't summoned them. Not yet. He thinks about the battle to come, trying to combat his fear. He would rather be on dry land, planning this battle, not partaking in it. Jon is his friend but he feels a pang of resentment. How easy it was for him to impress his queen, with all that talk about dragon glass, the white walkers. Jon appears fearless to Daenerys, but Tyrian knows he is afraid. How could he not be?

"My lord?"

Startled, Tyrian turns to see Daenerys, her white hair casually coiled around her neck. He notices the youthful glow of her skin, the brightness of her eyes as she looks at him.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I was - - delayed."

Tyrian bows his head slightly in deference.

"So it would appear."

Daenerys blushes and Tyrian smiles, not wishing to embarrass her.

"The King of the North can be very persuasive," Tyrian suggests.

"Yes."

They smile at each other, but Tyrian feels a twinge of sadness.

"Come," Daenerys instructs, taking command, "let us discuss our battle strategy."

"As you wish."

They both stare out at the ocean, contemplating the vast expanse. Neither of them speaks for several moments.

"Dragons," Tyrian says quietly.

"Yes, but they are my children, I will not risk their lives lightly."

"No, my lady, but without them, we are nothing, we are like ants."

Daenerys sighs, gripping the wooden bar with her two hands. The wind lightly blows her hair away from her face.

"I know."

She frowns and it accentuates her dark eyebrows.

"I know all this Tyrian, but it doesn't help. I have already lost Viserion, I do not intend to lose more, we have other defences, we have dragon glass, men and ships."

She gestures at the ships flanking them on either side, stretching away behind them.

"According to Jon, ships and men will not be enough. We need to fight ice with fire. Which is stronger?" Tyrian asks.

Her blue eyes flash defiantly.

"Fire of course!"


	3. Chapter 3

"My lord, a raven has arrived with a message from Winterfell."

John takes the tightly coiled paper from the servant's hand through the crack in the door and slips it into his pocket. Behind him, Daenerys stirs, stretching her hands over her head.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, just a weather report."

She is naked, accept for a heavy silver necklace set with emeralds. She looks at Jon, dressed in his black robes as he goes to the window and looks out.

"Will there be a storm?"

"No, I don't think so, but we must take precautions, we need the fleet to arrive in a good condition."

Daenerys sighs heavily.

"What is it?"

"Sometimes I wish we could just forget all this, just be two ordinary people, in love. I never realised I could feel like this - -"

"Nor I."

Jon goes to her and kisses her, feeling her warm, soft body against him, feeling her arms around his neck. As he kisses her however, he thinks about the message in his pocket, longing to read it. He needs to know that his family is safe, that Sansa is still in command. He lets Daenerys push him back onto the bed, the silk sheets rustle as she lowers herself onto him, her hands beneath his clothes. Distracted, his arms encircle her waist, kissing her deeply. Nothing seems to matter, not family or honour. For once, that creeping fear he has for the battle before him disappears as she moves above him, throwing back her head and gasping.

Suddenly she stops and stares down at him intently.

"Do you feel it?" she asks.

"Yes," he murmurs, knowing he will say anything just to get her to continue.

"Tell me."

"I feel it."

"What do you feel?" her eyes flash wickedly and she holds his hands above his head.

"Love."

"Say it."

"I love you."

"Say it again."

"I love you."

"That's better."

She begins to move again and he clutches at her hands. The room seems to vibrate with intensity, red hot and relentless. He groans as the walls fall away and he is suddenly in the furnace of a dragon's cave, cocooned in the scaly arch of a dragon's wing. Daenerys is laughing hysterically, then she is crying.

"My baby, my baby!"

Jon is awake again, in the room. They lie together, silently. Daenerys lies across him, asleep, her hair billowing out across his shoulder. He looks around him, puzzled and confused. What just happened?

He shifts away from her, gently so as not to wake her and rearranges his clothes. Then in the light coming through the window he takes the message from his pocket and reads it.

"Lord Baelish is dead. He was a traitor. We must protect our own. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

It is from Sansa. Good, dependable Sansa. So, Little Finger is dead. He never trusted him. Satisfied, Jon crumples the paper into a ball. He thinks about Winterfell, his home, but something doesn't seem right. Since meeting Daenerys, he feels unsettled, disturbed. Everything that he thought was true and right, now seems strange. Home is not home anymore. Winterfell is like a dream that he had, an illusion. The castle seems forbidding and cold. He does not have that yearning desire to return to it like he used to. He wishes only to be with Daenerys. He is losing sight of everything that he is supposed to be fighting for.

Angrily he strides across the room and flings open the door. He needs to clear his head, get rid of all these demons confusing his brain, filling his dreams with puzzling images.

Up on deck, a cool breeze blows from the North making him hug his cloak around him. He holds onto the rail as the ship lurches into a trough between the waves, then rises again in the swell. The spray hits him in the face and he wipes his face, relishing the moment, the fresh sea air.

He needs to wake up now.


	4. Chapter 4

"My lord, are you well?"

Jon looks at Tyrian and feels a spark of irritation. Tyrian's ability to read him is sometimes frustrating. He would rather appear strong and in command than confused like he feels now.

"Yes, I'm quite well."

"Perhaps it is the motion of the waves, it can be rather - - disconcerting."

Jon nods, wiping a hand across his brow which feels cool and yet slightly feverish. He thinks of Daenerys below decks, sleeping. Why can't he relax the way she does?

"Was there a raven?" Tyrian asks.

"Yes, from Winterfell, Littlefinger is dead."

Tyrian balks in surprise.

"Littlefinger? Well, I suppose it had to happen sooner or later, he had many enemies."

"Including you?"

"Well, let's just say we weren't the best of friends."

"Sansa realised in time. I really thought that he would stop at nothing to be with her," Jon says happily.

"His scheming has ended at last. If it weren't for his meddling, I could still now be in Kings Landing enjoying all the wine and women that I want, but instead I am here, on this voyage, with you, heading towards a battle that will be very hard to win."

"So, would you rather be back in Kings Landing?"

Tyrian laughs harshly.

"Waiting to have my throat cut in the night by my own beloved sister? No, I have made my choice and it is to be here, with my queen."

"And your king."

"With respect, my lord, you are not my king."

"Not your king, no, but your friend."

"Indeed."

Tyrian bows his head slightly, holding tight to the rail as the ship rolls.

"Although I think we are very different. The only thing that we truly have in common it that in the eyes of our father's we were both bastards."

Tyrian knows he is repeating this, it is something he said to Jon long ago.

"They are both dead."

Jon shivers and Tyrian notices how pale he looks.

"Come, let us go below, I have a nice claret that needs to be drunk."

"No, thank you, I think I must go and lie down."

Tyrian takes Jon's arm and leads him across the deck. He notices the way that Jon leans heavily on him. As they reach the steps leading down, Jon suddenly stops.

"Did you ever have a dream that you felt was real?"

"Sounds like a good dream!"

"No, this dream, it was like it was happening, right now. It was full of colours and images, I could almost touch it, breath it, taste it."

"Touch what?"

"The dragon."

Tyrian squints up at him, a confused look on his face.

"Never mind."

Jon laughs self-consciously, then claps Tyrian on the back.

"Come on, maybe I'm in need of that claret afterall."

In the chamber below, Daenerys stirs. She sits up quickly and looks around her. She is alone. She slips on her robe and goes to the window almost losing her step as the ship rolls. She thinks about Jon.

With Drogo, it began as him the master and her the slave, but she learnt how to be a woman with him. She learnt how to please him and how to get him to satisfy her. With Jon, it is more intuitive, it is more give and take. It is almost as if they were meant for each other, in tune. It is like she has known him for a very long time, years almost.

Who is he? The bastard son of Ned Stark? When they touch, she feels a more powerful connection, like a secret understanding, a perception. In his dark eyes, she sees the future and the past, like a labyrinth she must walk down. To find what? Herself?

Daenerys sighs leaning her forehead against the cool window as sea-spray hits the glass outside. All this love-making is exhausting, but her need for him is insatiable.

She claps her hands and Missandei appears moments later.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I would like to take a bath."

"I will arrange it."

"Good. I think it might be prudent to mention this to the King of the North if you were to see him about the ship."

They smile at each other conspiratorially.

"I am sure I can arrange to mention it to him, my lady, if I was to see him about the ship, in fact I think I saw him up on the deck with Tyrian."

"You have very keen eyes Missandei."

"That is true, as the Commander of the unsullied has often remarked."

"Has he?"

Missandei smiles and turns to leave.

Daenerys moves to her dressing table and removes the heavy emerald necklace from around her neck. The green glass winks up at her like a dragon's eye. She touches the jewels tenderly thinking of Drogon and Rhaegal. Soon she will summon them. Then they will see who is the true Queen. Not Cersei Lannister with all her falseness and lies. With Tyrian's help she will outwit her, outstep her, every step of the way. Then she, Daenerys, will be the true queen of all the seven kingdoms.

One day.

She stares at herself in the mirror, imagining the crown, the throne. Jon at her side, bending the knee. Would he? She hopes so, because she couldn't share her throne. There should be only one master, one ruler. Her. He will have to understand that, or else all this will come to nothing. Love cannot be without pain, without duty. She learned that from Drogo. Jon will have to understand that she is the chosen one, that she is Khaleesi, the unburnt, the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons. It cannot be undone.


	5. Chapter 5

The sea is calm now, but inside she is full of turmoil. Somehow, she feels that this is her fault, that their love-affair has damaged Jon, made him vulnerable. He has let his guard down and this is the outcome.

Outside the cabin window it is dark. Daenerys wonders how far they are from the coast. Will she have to go into battle on her own against the white walkers? Will she be on her own again, just as she has found her soul-mate, her love?

Jon stirs and moans in his sleep. A light film of sweat lies on his brow and she wipes it off. He is so hot. Deftly, she unbuttons his shirt, revealing his chest as it rises and falls in time to his feverish breaths. Her fingers trace his scars, one right over his heart. She thinks about Davos's words, what did he mean about Jon taking a knife to the heart for his people? Is this proof? She thinks about her own powers, for she is the unburnt, the mother of dragons. Perhaps Jon cannot die? He is so handsome, so strong. She dips the cloth and lovingly washes him, caressing his skin gently. He stirs again, opening his eyes briefly to look at her.

"Daenerys?"

His voice is a whisper.

"Yes, I am here."

She touches his face, curling her fingers into his beard.

"Are you a witch?"

He blinks, then closed his eyes again.

She knows that he is confused, but his words still trouble her. What is he dreaming about? Witches and demons? She remembers the white walkers, the sheer moving mass of them as she flew above them astride Drogon. It is the stuff of nightmares. She wonders what horrors John has seen beyond the wall, his battle scars are testimony to this. She realises that she knows little about him, only that he grew up with his brother and sisters at Winterfell, but he always felt apart from them as he was a bastard. His trusty companion was his direwolf Ghost, who was always at his side, protecting him. They have many similarities. She has her dragons and he has his wolf. She, like Jon was sent away from her home, cast aside as if she was of no importance. Despite everything she has succeeded, through sheer determination.

"Please wake up," she murmurs, bending to kiss him.

He does not move.

There is a faint tapping at the door and Tyrian enters, bowing slightly when he sees her.

"My lady."

He comes over to stand by the bed, looking down at Jon's face.

"Any improvement?"

"Very little. He said my name, but I do not think he was awake."

Tyrian nods, frowning.

"We should reach the shore in a day at most. We will have to leave him here," Tyrian says.

Daenerys nods.

"At least he will be safe here."

"Yes, I hope so."

Daenerys glanced at him fearfully, "what do you mean?"

"Just that we do not know the power of the White Walkers."

"But they cannot swim."

"I hope not my lady."

"But we know that fire kills them and dragon glass."

"Yes, and Valyrian steel."

Daenerys sighs heavily and touches Jon's shoulder.

"He will be well again."

"Yes, of course he will. Why don't you try and get some rest and I will stay here with him for a while?"

"No, I couldn't."

"I will look after him, Jon is my friend."

Daenerys nods slowly. She is too tired to refuse.

"Promise you will take good care of him?"

"I promise."

When Daenerys leaves, Tyrian settles in the chair that she was sitting in, but soon realises that he is too low. He heaves himself up onto the side of the bed so that he is sitting closer to him. Then, like Daenerys, he dips the cloth into the bowl and wipes Jon's forehead with it. He looks at the scar on Jon's chest and grimaces, then pulls Jon's shirt across to cover it. He hums a little tune to himself, looking around the room for some entertainment, but Jon's cabin is very spartan. His cloak lies across a chair and the black wool gives off a slightly unpleasant, musky scent. He wishes that Daenerys was still here so that he could talk to her.

Jon calls out in his sleep, thrashing his head from side to side and Tyrian tries to calm him.

"White Walkers!"

"It's ok Jon, go back to sleep!"

"No, you don't understand!"

Jon opens his eyes and grabs hold of Tyrian's wrist, making Tyrian recoil in pain.

"I have seen them, they are real. The dead walk upon the earth!"

"I know."

Tyrian struggles to free Jon's fingers from around his wrist, but he has him in a vice like grip.

"They are coming!"

Then, with an exhausted sigh, Jon closes his eyes again. Tyrian stares at his face, trying to work out if he is sleeping again. He rubs his wrist. Maybe he didn't sign up for this. He has never had the patience to be a good nurse.

He jumps down from the bed and goes to the door.

"Missandei?"

His voice echoes down the corridor and for a moment he thinks she will not appear, but suddenly she is there.

"My lord?"

"Yes, I have a small request - -"

He is about to ask for some refreshments when he has a better idea.

"I wonder, would you mind looking after the King of the North for a while? I fear I am on the verge of falling asleep myself and Daenerys will never forgive me."

"Of course, my Lord."

Missandei brushes past him as he stands back to let her pass.

Feeling horribly guilty he goes back to his cabin.

"It's not my fault," he tells himself as he settles back into his soft, warm bed. As he closes his eyes, he has his favourite fantasy of being back in King's Landing with Shae, lying on his bed as she tickles him and feeds him grapes. He does not think about how she lied at his trial. He accepts that women are fickle creatures. He still does not understand them. But Daenerys is different. He would follow her to the end of the earth.


	6. Chapter 6

When Jon awakens he feels such a thirst it's as if he has been in a desert for weeks. He reaches out for the glass next to his bed and drinks greedily. The ship is still, as if anchored and he twists his head to look towards the window. It is light outside.

"Hello?"

His voice echoes in the room and for a moment he thinks no one will come, but suddenly Missandei appears.

"My lord, you are awake."

John tries to sit up, but the room tilts at an angle and he realises how weak he is. He slumps back down again.

"Where is Daenerys?" he asks.

"She has gone with the others."

"What do you mean?"

Missandei looks towards the window and he can tell that she is reluctant to tell him.

"Have we reached the shore?" he demands.

"Yes, two days ago. You were too sick to be moved."

Jon sighs in exasperation and tries again to push himself up, but he is so weak his arms will not hold him.

"I must go with them."

"I have orders to take care of you here until they return."

"But Daenerys needs me."

Jon feels all his energy slipping away. His eyelids are so heavy he can hardly keep them open.

"I will bring you some broth my Lord."

Missandei hurries away.

He knows he should be more grateful, but he only feels frustration. Daenerys is out there fighting the White Walkers without him.

"And Tyrian?"

"He has gone with her."

What match will Tyrian and Daenerys be for those monsters? He curses, throwing off the sheets. He must go to them before it's too late. He must kill the Night King, it is his only chance. He rolls over, kicking his legs over the side of the bed. As soon as his feet touch the floor, his legs buckle beneath him and he falls heavily. Cursing, he tries to pull himself towards the door.

"My Lord?"

Missandei stares down at him, a bowl of steaming broth in her hands.

"Help me!"

Missandei puts down the bowl and goes to him, helping to pull him up and guide him to the nearest chair. He falls into it heavily.

"When did they leave?"

"Yesterday my Lord, at dawn."

He grabs his cloak and pulls it roughly around him.

"Is anyone else here? Fetch me a map so that I might see where they have gone."

"After you have eaten, you must build up your strength."

Missandei hands him the broth and he eats it greedily. He feels weak and dizzy, but he hides this.

"We thought that you would not survive," she says almost in awe, looking at him as if he has risen from the dead.

"And the dragons? Did Daenerys summon them?"

"Yes."

"Drogon?"

"Yes, my Lord, I saw her climb onto Drogon's back, like a true warrior Queen and fly off towards the enemy."

"I must go to her."

He tries again to get up, but Missandei stops him.

"You will only hinder her like this, better to be stronger first."

He knows that what she says is true, but the despair he feels makes it impossible to accept. He looks towards the window again; the silence and stillness are unnerving. What waits for them out there?

"They will come back," Missandei insists.

"How can you be so sure?"

Missandei shrugs.

"Because I believe in my Queen. I believe in the power of good over evil."

Jon wants to believe her, but he feels so useless. This is not his destiny. Far away a battle is raging without him. As soon as he is strong enough he will set out, on foot if necessary, before it is too late.


	7. Chapter 7

Out on deck the stillness is eerie and seagulls whirl beneath clear skies. Jon leans heavily on the rail, looking at the scene before him. They are moored in White Harbour, the old sea walls loom above him and as he looks further up at the lush green hills, he sees Manderly Keep, the new castle, situated near the top. He remembers how Wyman Manderly declared that Jon was now the King of the North during the gathering at Winterfell. He hopes that Lord Manderly still believes that. He needs his help now.

He watches as a fish seller goes about his business, oblivious to the danger that threatens. A woman pauses to peer into his basket and points at a fish, then shakes her head when the price is too high. They haggle for a moment, then the deal is done. Sometimes, Jon wishes he could go back and be a boy again, playing in the woods and fields around Winterfell, trying to teach Ghost tricks. He chuckles to himself, trying to train the untrainable!

He is still weak, but he is getting stronger every day. He reaches instinctively for his sword, Longclaw and touches the smooth head of the direwolf carved onto the top. He needs Valyrian steel, the weapons that will be vital in the battle against the White Walkers. Brienne has Oathkeeper at Winterfell and Sam Tarly has Heartsbane. He hopes he will see Sam again one day. He knows of one other weapon, Widow's Wail which Jaime Lannister owns. Soon their paths will cross as Cersei Lannister promised to support him in the north. He hopes that she will keep her word. They have mined as much dragonglass as they can and made it into weapons. He hopes it will be enough.

He closes his eyes and tries to picture Daenerys, her white hair streaming out behind her as she rides into battle, astride Drogon. He can almost feel the coolness of the dragon's scaly back under his fingers, the sheer power of the creature beneath him and the rush of wind as the giant wings beat. He remembers all the strange dreams he had during the fever, swirling around him like a fog, burning like fire, sizzling and cracking. The green eye of the dragon, blinking, trying to communicate with him. He remembers how they roared as they called to each other, untameable yet loyal. It's almost as if he can hear them now, that high-pitched call, like a bird of prey, coming closer and closer.

He opens his eyes.

Above Manderly Keep he spots the dragon. Jon knows instinctively that it is Rhaegal and that he has summoned him. How, he does not know. As Rhaegal swoops down towards the ship, Jon feels a momentary wave of fear. As the huge dragon circles, he hears cries of panic from the quay, where once there was normality. Rhaegal dives down so close to him, that he feels the whoosh of air hit him and before he has time to think he is clinging to the dragon's wing, climbing up onto his back. All his dreams and thoughts become reality as the world rushes away beneath him, making him feel dizzy as White Harbour becomes smaller and smaller, houses like tiny white cubes on the hillside. Rhaegal climbs higher and higher, breaking through a cloud as Jon clings on. He wishes he felt braver, more in control as Rhaegal soars higher.

"Go to the Mother of Dragons!" he orders in the most masterful voice he can muster.

Rhaegal dives, skirting low above the mountain top as Jon clings on, changing direction. He glimpses briefly the ships lying in the harbour, awaiting his return, before Rhaegal swishes his giant wings and they begin to fly north towards Winterfell. He feels relief as he is going home, but what awaits him there? Death and destruction? He thinks about his sisters, Sansa and Arya. He wants to protect them.

Soon he will know his fate.


	8. Chapter 8

He is too late. Below him Jon sees the destruction of Winterfell, the burnt-out carcass of his home. Fires still burn, smoke billows into the air from a tower and the air is acrid, choking. He orders Rhaegal to land.

From his vantage point, hidden in the trees, Jon creeps closer, gripping his sword. All is still, apart from the crackling of the fires. He walks beneath a blackened arch, entering the castle grounds. The mud is thick and cloying beneath his feet as he follows the wall around to the courtyard. He tenses as he hears a noise, and draws his sword.

"Ghost!"

The direwolf comes to him, licking his face and hands as Jon bends down to pet him. He runs his hand down the dog's back, feeling his thick soft fur under his fingers. For a moment, he puts his arms around Ghost's neck as he wags his tail excitedly. Ghost pulls at his sleeve, and Jon knows he is trying to lead him somewhere.

"What is it?"

It is hard to keep up with him as he bolts through the charred remains of the castle. Jon jumps over still burning timber as Ghost disappears around a corner.

He enters Godswood and although many of the trees have been scorched, the wood is mainly untouched, as if the battle did not reach this area. In the centre stands the Heart Tree, still intact, weeping rivers of red, like blood. Ghost stands next to the tree and barks urgently.

"What is it Ghost?"

Through the mouth opening carved in the tree Jon sees a figure lying on the ground inside. He climbs through the gap and bends down. It is Bran. He touches his arm and for a moment thinks that he is dead. Then Bran stirs and moves.

"Jon is that you?"

"Yes."

He helps Bran to sit up and they hug each other. Jon feels how thin and slight he is beneath his clothes. Bran doesn't look at him as he begins to tell Jon what has happened.

"The battle raged all around me," Bran says, his voice strangely without emotion. "Sam hid me here in the Weirwood tree and the Whitewalkers passed by. They did not know I was here."

"Sam Tarly?"

"Yes."

"Did he survive?"

"Sansa persuaded him to leave with Gilly and their son before the Whitewalkers came."

Jon sighs with relief.

"And Sansa, Arya? Where are they?"

"Arya stayed behind to fight, but Sansa went south."

Jon grips Bran's arm.

"Tell me, what do you see? Are they still alive?"

In the dim light, Bran fixes his dark, almost dead eyes on Jon.

"My ravens followed the battle, but the White Walker's Ice dragon killed them, hurt my eyes - -" he bends his head and rubs his eyes.

"Are you blind?"

"No, but my visions are gone, without them I am nothing, just a cripple." Again, Bran's voice is oddly unemotional. "You may as well leave me here."

"No, you are my brother. I won't leave you."

Bran looks at Jon and shakes his head.

"You are not my brother."

"Half-brother then."

"Not even that."

"What do you mean?"

"You are the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen who were secretly married. Ned discovered you at the Tower of Joy where your mother, Lyanna had just given birth. She made him swear to protect you. We are not brothers at all, and you are not the bastard of Ned Stark, my father. You are Aegon Targaryen, true heir to the Iron Throne."

Jon cannot speak. He stares at Bran. What is he saying?

"I know all this through my ravens. I saw it all. Lyanna died and Ned Stark rescued you. Brought you back here to Winterfell to live as his bastard son. But it was all a lie. He did it to protect you."

Jon's mind races. How can this be?

"No, Daenerys is the true queen."

"Daenerys Targaryen?"

Jon registers the name for the first time. Targaryen? They must be related. He tries to work out the connection.

"She is your aunt," Bran says gruffly.

"My aunt?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

Jon gets up and climbs swiftly back through the gap in the trunk. Ghost waits outside for him patiently and Jon crouches down beside him.

"Here boy."

It is all so ludicrous and far-fetched. He cannot believe it. He will not. Daenerys, his love, his soul-mate, related to him? But as he pushes his face into Ghost's warm fur, he knows that Bran is not lying. Why would he?

Around him the Godswood stirs, the leaves rustling in the chill breeze. Jon shivers. There is still danger. But despite everything, he feels a rush of excitement. Is he really the true heir of the Iron Throne? Not simple Jon Snow the bastard son of Ned Stark, but a Targaryen, destined to be a king?

Deep in his heart he knows it. He understands his connection to the dragons, deep-rooted, primeval. It is who he is. A Targaryen, like Daenerys.

"Jon?"

He hears Bran call his name.

"Yes, I am here."

He steps back into the tree, ducking his head.

"I'm sorry, but I had to tell you."

From his half-sitting position, Bran looks small and weak.

"I understand. Come on, let's get you out of here."


	9. Chapter 9

Jon sits beside the Heart tree, waiting for Rhaegal to return. He sent Bran back to the ship. He looked so small and feeble up on Rhaegal's back, his face pale and sickly. Jon knows that Missandei will take care of him. Ghost waits with him patiently, sprawled at his feet, he looks relaxed, but Jon knows that he is alert, his ears pricked for any danger out there in the trees. He thinks about Daenerys, the intensity of their love-making before he became ill, tumbling among the sheets, her sweet, warm body in his arms as if it was made for him. He tries to push away the knowledge that he is related to her, but he cannot.

"How can this be?" he asks out loud and Ghost looks up at him, his tail wagging.

Perhaps it is a mistake. Bran has not had a vision at all, but an elaborate dream. He pictures his mother on the bed, and the baby in his father Ned Stark's arms. No, not his father. Rhaegar Targaryen is his father. Ned might not be his real father by blood, but he will always be his father in name. And his real name? Aegon Targaryen. He doesn't like the sound of it. He is Jon and will always be Jon. Son of Ned Stark.

Jon thumps his chest and bows his head.

"Jon Stark", he says proudly.

Just then, Ghost growls softly, turning his head in the direction of the trees. Jon instinctively reaches for his sword and crouches, ready to defend himself, but after several seconds nothing happens.

Jon creeps towards the woods, Ghost close at his heels. The wind blows gently, rippling the leaves; perhaps it is just the breeze. He finds himself on a familiar path, winding through the trees, all is still, but he feels watchful and prepared for attack. Ghost bounds ahead, leading the way and Jon begins to run, faster and faster. Eventually he reaches the edge of the forest and looks out across a vast plain that stretches away towards the horizon. It was a battlefield. The grass is stained with blood and the smell makes him retch. He covers his face with his sleeve and picks his way across, sidestepping pieces of armour and arrows, the odd weapon.

Where are all the bodies?

It is only when he gets to the edge of the field and looks back towards Winterfell that he understands. They have all been turned into White Walkers, that is why there are no bodies. He thinks about Arya, so fearless and clever. Will he ever see her again, or will she be changed into one of those creatures, trapped between living and dying forever. It is too cruel. Has Daenerys fought here, bravely battling with her dragon Drogon? He cannot bear to think of her, wishing that he could have been here to fight alongside her.

Up here, the air is cold, and he shivers, hugging his coat around him. He looks towards the south, imagining the great white army stampeding across the land, killing everything in its path. He hopes that Sam and Gilly and Sansa got away in time. He pushes his fingers into his shirt, feeling for the raised edges of the scar over his heart. Perhaps it is not futile. Hasn't he arisen from the dead to fulfil his destiny?

But what is his destiny? If they defeat the White walkers, what then? Will he bend the knee to Daenerys and accept her as his Queen, knowing what he knows now? That he is the rightful heir? And how can they reconcile their love for each other with that struggle for power, or live with the knowledge that they are related to each other? Does any of it matter if they really love each other?

Ghost chooses that moment to throw back his head and howl. The sound echoes down through the valley and Jon feels suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

"Come on boy," he says, leading the way.

It is only when he gets back between the trees that he feels safe again. He looks towards the North, wishing that Rhaegal will appear from between the clouds. He feels alone.

He needs to go now, to follow the White Walkers relentless march across the land and to stop them in their tracks. He does not know how he will do it, but he will try.

He reaches for his sword and holds it high above his head so that it glints in the setting sun.

"Jon Targaryen," he says quietly.

It has a ring to it. He stands straight and proud.

"Jon Targaryen," he says again, more loudly.

As if in answer, the dragon appears from behind the sun, it's giant wings slowly flapping as it comes closer and closer. For a moment, Jon thinks that it is Rhaegal, but then as he watches, he realises that it is Drogon. He circles above him, almost suspended in the air and then comes into land. It is only when Drogon lowers his wings that Jon glimpses the white blond hair trailing down the dragon's side.

"Daenerys!"

He lifts her from Drogon and her head tilts back against his shoulder as she tries to open her eyes.

"Jon?" she murmurs.

"I'm here."

He carries her to the shelter of the trees and lies her down. He realises that she is bleeding from an arrow wound in her chest. She reaches up and touches his face, caressing his skin, tracing his mouth with her fingers.

"There were too many," she whispers, dropping her hand and closing her eyes.

He grabs her hand in his and brings it to his lips.

"Daenerys, please, you have to live!"

He picks her up and carries her towards Drogon. He knows it is the only way he can save her.

"Take us to Kings Landing!" he orders as he climbs onto the dragon, holding tightly onto Daenerys.

There will be surgeons there who will be able to save her life. Nothing seems to matter to him now, not the battle, not the White Walkers. He must save her, because now he realises at last, without her he has no meaning, no goals. He doesn't want to be King of the Seven Kingdoms without her by his side. His queen.

As Drogon lifts them both into the air, Jon leans towards Daenerys and kisses her softly. Her eyes flicker, but she doesn't open them.

"I love you," he whispers.

Far below them, Ghost becomes a white dot until Jon sees him disappear into the woods. He knows that his direwolf will wait for him to return, however long it takes. And he will return one day.


	10. Chapter 10

Jon paces the small room which has become almost like a prison in the days he has been there. He thinks back to how Drogon left them near the Blackwater river and he carried Daenerys into the city under the cover of darkness, following the Kings road, and entering the city through the Gate of the Gods. He found an old hand cart, lay Daenerys in it and covered her with his clock, then made his way to Flea Bottom, hoping to find friends there. He knew that Davos was from there, but the stink and poverty was still a surprise as he avoided the open sewer that ran down the centre of the street. Luckily, the way was lit by moon-light and all was still and quiet, but he felt observed. Unseen eyes watched him from alleyways and doorways. He passed a tavern and a drunk lay in the doorway unconscious.

Eventually he reached a crossroads feeling exhausted. Behind him he heard footsteps coming closer down the street and without thinking, pounded on the nearest door. The door creaked open and Jon pushed inside, pulling the cart in behind him and slamming the door shut again. The old man swore and raised his arm, but Jon grabbed it, easily overpowering him.

"Please," he whispered frantically, as he heard voices and footsteps in the alley outside, "I am a friend of Davos Seaworth, I need shelter and a surgeon."

"Davos?" the old man stuttered, "A surgeon?"

"Please, my friend is gravely ill."

Jon bent and pulled back the cloak covering Daenerys. In the dim light from a candle the red blood from her wound seeped through her clothing. Her face was deathly pale.

"A surgeon?" the man said harshly. "More like an undertaker you'll be needing."

"Please help me, here I have gold."

Jon took out a bag and spilled some coins onto the old man's palm. His face lit up and he smiled, showing rotten teeth. His hand closed greedily over the coins.

"Any friend of Davos is a friend of mine."

As the days past, Jon waited to be arrested and taken away to reach his end, the same way as Ned Stark, the man who was a father to him, met his in Kings Landing, but no one came. A sister of the old man arrived instead to nurse Daenerys, extracting the arrow from her side and cleaning the wound. Jon brushed Deanery's hair back from her face and kissed her brow, as she moaned in pain.

"Be strong for me," he whispered.

The old woman sang a song as she worked, and Jon felt himself relaxing. He was so tired.

"Is she your sweetheart?" she asked when she was done. "She is a fighter this one."

"Yes. Thank you for helping us."

The old woman reached out and patted his hand.

"Tis no trouble, we are not loyal to the Lannisters in this house."

The old woman's eyes were dark and seemed to pierce right into his soul.

"I see that you and the girl will help us out of these dark times, but do not tarry here for long as they will find out that you are here sooner or later."

The old woman's words came back to haunt Jon now as he paces, stopping to pause and look at Daenerys as she lays on the bed. She is getting better slowly, but it is not fast enough. Soon, they will be discovered.

He goes to her, watching her shallow breathing as her chest rises and falls. She looks small and frail, a shadow of the leader that she once was. He knows he must return to Winterfell and help his friends, but he does not want to leave her here.

How long before the white walkers reach Kings Landing?

They must be stopped.


	11. Chapter 11

Daenerys feels herself floating, lifted by an invisible force, and far off, strange music seeps into her consciousness. She is hot, then cold as an unseen hand touches her forehead, but she is too weak to open her eyes. Then there are voices, far off, indistinct. She cannot make out the words.

"Jon?"

She longs to see his face, but in the mist that surrounds her, she cannot see him. What is this new emotion? This need in her to love and be loved. It was so different with Drogo. Then it was about honour, duty and survival. With Jon it is about passion and desire, a feeling that consumes her, like a hunger. She wants him all the time, even in sickness.

When she awakens, she knows that Jon has gone. She looks at the old woman sitting by her bed, her face wrinkled and lined. The woman looks at her kindly, her eyes unusually dark in the pale face.

"He left this morning before the dawn."

The pain is like an arrow through her heart.

"When will he come back?"

The woman takes Daenerys hand.

"He will return."

How does she know?

Suddenly the old woman looks fearful, she grips Deanery's hand so that it hurts.

"Quick, you must go!"

Outside there is commotion and noise, then the door is violently thrust open. Soldiers pour into the room, surround her bed and lift her roughly. She struggles, but they laugh at her, dragging her outside into the blinding sunlight, carrying her between them like an animal, not a human being, a Queen.

"Let me go!" Daenerys shouts. "Do you know who I am? I am Khaleesi, the unburnt, the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons."

"Yeah, and I'm the King of Westeros," jokes one of the soldiers to loud laughter.

"Where are you taking me, I demand to know!"

"You'll see soon enough."

Through the streets, they carry her, kicking and fighting, but she is still weak. They pull her up the steps to the Red Keep and Daenerys knows then, that Cersei will be waiting for her, enjoying this moment and gloating at her discovery. Then they are entering the great hall, through massive bronze and oak doors, into a cavernous room. She sees the Iron Throne ahead of her, on the raised dais and Cersei sitting there, calmly waiting. As they throw her down onto the marble floor, she hears Cersei chuckle softly.

"Your Grace, we have brought the woman, as you ordered."

"Good, you may go."

The guards file out leaving only one huge bodyguard, his face hidden from view in a full suit of armour. Cersei gestures for him to go to Daenerys and she quickly gets to her feet and retreats towards the closed doors. She feels small and naked in her nightdress, wishing that she'd had time to dress, to look like a queen. The guard keeps on coming and Daenerys knows he will crush her like an ant.

"Is that all you can do?" she demands, side-stepping the guard and coming back towards Cersei. "Getting your lackey to do your dirty work for you, when I am unarmed?"

"What's wrong with a little sport, if it's for my entertainment?"

Daenerys ducks beneath his arm as he tries to grab her, feeling cold and weak. It won't be long before he catches her.

"Come on," Cersei mocks, "why don't you call up your dragons? Where are they when you need them? Or are they occupied, fighting the battle in the North without their Queen?"

"I was fighting in that battle!" Daenerys says defiantly. "And where were you? Even your brother Jamie Lannister was there!"

"Jamie?"

As Daenerys lunges towards the throne, the giant grabs her ankle, twists it in his hand like a tiny twig. She screams in agony.

"Stop Ser Robert!"

Cersei puts up her hand and the guard lets her go reluctantly. Daenerys rubs her ankle desperately, convinced that it is broken.

"You will pay for this!" Daenerys mutters angrily.

"Will I? And who will make me pay?"

"The King of the North."

"Who? That bastard son of Ned Stark? I am not afraid of him."

"I have many supporters," Daenerys says bravely, flinching as she struggles to stand up.

Cersei makes a dismissive sound in her throat.

"So, tell me," she says slowly, carefully, pretending not to care. "You saw Jamie alive?"

"Call off your henchman and I will tell you."

Cersei waves him away, and he goes back to stand beside her.

"Yes, I saw him."

Daenerys manages to stand up, putting gentle weight onto her foot. It is sore, but it is not broken. She notices how Cersei looks away from her, but she glimpses the raw relief in her expression and how she blinks rapidly to hide her tears. Cersei clears her throat before she speaks again, and her voice is as calm and calculating as before.

"Tell me what you saw."

"I will," Daenerys says equally calmly, "but first you must bring me a cloak befitting my status, you must bring me water and food."

"Must I?"

Cersei laughs, enjoying the moment.

"What do you think Ser Robert? Will we do as we are bidden?"

The giant does not speak or move.

"Take her to the dungeons until I decide what to do with her."

Daenerys limps away from the beast as fast as she can, but he grabs her under one arm and carries her out, like she is nothing more than a child's doll. She tries to struggle free, but he doesn't even flinch when she tries to bite his arm. Then they are going down the dark steps to the dungeons, deeper and deeper into the depths of the earth beneath the Red Keep. She is pushed into a dark cell and the floor is cold and wet beneath her. She shivers violently as the door is slammed behind her and she hears the key in the door, locking her in.

Then there is silence.


	12. Chapter 12

Daenerys awakens and for a moment she doesn't know where she is. A small chink of light filters into the cell and she moves towards it, letting it shine on her face. She is so cold, but at least now the fever has passed. She closes her eyes and thinks about Jon, hoping he is safe. She knows where he has gone. She wonders if she will ever see him again.

So now she plays a game of cat and mouse with Cersei, pretending that she knows the fate of Sir Jamie Lannister. She pulls the cloak around her that Cersei has given her, smiling a little to herself. She knows who is going to win this battle.

Now Jon has returned everything has changed. They have retreated to high ground, to re-group and to discuss tactics. Jamie Lannister tries to convince Jon that the best tactic would be use all their strength in one last push for victory, but Jon is more cautious.

"While the Night King lives then we must be prepared to outwit him."

Jamie laughs harshly.

"Outwit him? One thrust of my sword will see to that!"

His henchmen nod and murmur in agreement.

Jon stands proudly and they all turn to look at him expectantly.

"I am no coward! I will fight until my last breath to save this land, but we must have a plan. The Night King is the master mind who instructs his army to fight on his command, in their thousands. They have no fear of death because they are dead already. We, as men, must think like them, even though it is unnatural to us, then we will understand them. If we fear them, then we are lost before the second battle has begun."

There are more murmurs of agreement.

"And what is your plan?" Jamie asks impatiently, looking down into the valley, scanning the trees and rocks for signs of the enemy, feeling a chill in his soul.

"Come, I will discuss it with you," Jon gestures towards Jamie's tent.

"Discuss it now, in front of my men, I have nothing to hide."

The men gather closer, their eyes wide with excitement and fear. Tyrian knows that Jamie is playing a game with Jon, he knows him so well.

"Perhaps my lord, you would rather your tactics and discussions thrashed out in the open for everyone to hear," Tyrian intervenes, addressing his brother. "I know of no surer way to encourage dissent and disagreement among the men."

"Thankyou Tyrian," Jamie says sarcastically, "I can always trust you to offer your opinion on matters that do not concern you."

"With respect, these matters do concern me, very much so, for it is I who will be putting my life on the line, even if it is of little importance to you."

There is laughter amongst the men and Jamie looks at his brother with undisguised affection.

"Enough!" Jon puts his hand up impatiently. "Come, we do not have time for this."

Jamie nods and starts to follow him, and Tyrian moves towards them, but Jon stops him.

"Wait inside, I will be with you in a moment," he says to Jamie.

He walks a short distance away with Tyrian, then says,

"Take Rhaegal and find Daenerys in King's Landing. Do not tell anyone where you are going, especially not your brother."

"No, please, my lord, I wish to stay here and fight. I hope you are not angry with me."

Jon puts his hand on Tyrian's shoulder.

"You have been a true friend to me and a brave warrior, but I need you now more than ever."

Tyrian knows when he is beaten. As he looks up into Jon's dark determined eyes, he knows that there is no point in arguing. The battle has been fought with Fire, Dragon Glass and Valyrian Steel. His dagger of Dragon Glass has served him well, but his size has made it a deadly quest, ducking and diving, swiping at the legs of his enemy. He knows his days are numbered.

"Very well, my lord, I'll do as you request and bring her back here."

"No."

To Tyrian's surprise, Jon squeezes his shoulder almost painfully.

"Do not do that. Send Rhaegal back, we will need him here. The Queen is too sick to travel. Find her and protect her, but keep her safe in King's Landing, that is all I ask of you!"

Tyrian nods in confusion. How will he keep Daenerys from returning? Before he can ask this however, Jon turns swiftly away. He watches him disappear into the tent. Surely Daenerys will be needed in the battle with the White Walkers? She can command her dragons, better than anyone. Why is Jon so sure of himself all of a sudden? Instinctively, Tyrian knows that something has happened since he last saw him, but what?

Tyrian sighs and shakes his head, making his way over the uneven ground to gather up his belongings. It is already dusk, the days are so short here, compared to King's Landing. He is glad to be going home, although he wonders what kind of reception he will get there. He cannot trust Cersei, but he will risk anything to save Daenerys.


	13. Chapter 13

Tyrian creeps along the dark road in Kings Landing, hiding beneath the shelter of the buildings as a steady rain falls. He dives back into the shadows, as a man walks past whistling a tune that Tyrian remembers from his childhood. He moves swiftly on, trying to banish the past, following the familiar road. There is no time for sentiment, only action. He will only let anger into his heart. He will think about how much he hated his father, Tywin, and how all loyalty he felt towards the Lannister name has gone.

As he follows the road down into Flea Bottom, he holds his nose from the stink from the sewers. Jon told him where to find Daenerys, and he quickly makes his way towards the house and knocks at the door. All is quiet within and for a moment he thinks that no one will answer. Then suddenly the door creaks open a crack and an eye appears, blinking down at him in surprise.

"Hello? I have come about the sick lady within, Jon sent me - - "

Before he can finish his sentence, a voice croaks out, "No sick person 'ere," and slams the door in his face.

Tyrian resists the urge to pound on the door and knocks again gently, saying urgently,

"Please, open the door, I need to know if she is well."

He looks around fearfully, aware that someone might have heard the commotion, but only a lame dog limps past, its head bowed in misery.

"Shit!" he whispers harshly under his breath.

He hates being on his own like this, he feels vulnerable and ill at ease. He knows that he is an easy target for drunks and vagabonds and when it gets light he will have to hide somewhere. He considers going to a brothel, at least there he will be warm and dry, but he is not in the mood. Undecided, he stands for a moment in the doorway as the rain drips down around him.

The door opens inwards suddenly behind him and he stumbles backwards. Rough hands grab him, pulling him into the room. He reaches for his dagger, but before he has time to draw it, his arms are pinned to his sides.

"Who are you, friend or foe?" demands a voice.

In the flickering light, Tyrian sees a face, etched with age, staring wildly at him.

"Friend! I am a friend of Jon Snow, a friend of Davos - -"

"Do you have gold?"

"Yes, look, I will give you some if you can take me to the sick girl."

"Show me."

"Release me first."

The old man lets him go and Tyrian pretends to search for his gold, but quickly pulls out his dagger and holds it up to his throat.

"Now, tell me where she is!"

The old man retreats, holding up his hands.

"I do not know, they came 'ere, the guards and took her away, I know nothing I swear!".

"No? More like you told them she was here."

"No, I didn't, they found out, I had nothing to do with it."

"Where did they take her?"

"To the Red Keep."

Tyrian sighs heavily and drops his arm. He thinks about the guards, about that hulking giant Ser Robert who is always at Cersei's side, what match would he be against them?

"I can help you," the old man says, "I know someone who can get you into the Red Keep through the tunnels."

Tyrian looks at him suspiciously not knowing whether he can trust him. He remembers Jamie leading him through secret passageways when he escaped from his cell in the Red Keep, but he knows he won't be able to remember the way by himself.

"How much will it cost me?" he asks, taking out his bag of gold. He knows he has no choice.

He places a few coins into the man's outstretched hand.

"We must leave tonight," Tyrian insists.

In answer the old man nods his head.

As Tyrian settles himself in front of the fire and looks around the sparsely furnished room, he wonders if he will survive this night. The wind howls through a crack in the window and he shivers thinking about the dungeons in the Red Keep. He doesn't want to go back there. Maybe this time he will not get out alive.

Far away across the city, Daenerys wraps her arms around herself, trying to get warm. She wishes that she could summon her dragons but knows that they are needed in the battle. It is hard not to be selfish when she is so cold and hungry. She knows that Cersei's patience is running thin. Soon Cersei will torture the truth about Sir Jamie out of her or will receive news that he is still alive. Then there will be nothing to stop Cersei from killing her. Daenerys thinks back to how the Targaryen's ruled the Seven Kingdoms for over 280 years until Robert's rebellion. The throne is rightfully hers.

She thumps the wall in frustration. What good is she here? She should be out there, fighting in the battle against the white walkers, with Jon. When they are defeated, together they will rule the Seven Kingdoms, she will be Queen and he will be the Hand as she is the rightful heir. Then everyone will see how a true Queen should rule and peace and prosperity will return to the land.

It has been prophesied.

 _"_ _Remember who you are, Daenerys,'_ the stars whispered to her in a woman's voice, " _The dragons know. Do you?_ _"_


	14. Chapter 14

Tyrion is exhausted, he has not slept even though he tried to doze by the old man's fire. He is too nervous and alert to the dangers all around him. Then, just before dawn, a man arrives, thick set and dangerous looking, his hands as big as rocks.

"I am Vardis," he says, glaring at Tyrion from beneath heavy eyebrows. "Friend of all who fight against the Lannisters. I curse all Lannisters!"

He spits dramatically on the floor, near Tyrion's foot. Tyrion swallows nervously. Now might not be the time to tell Vardis that he _is_ a Lannister.

"Good, and do you know how to get into the Red Keep through the tunnel?" Tyrion asks anxiously.

"I should, I was a prisoner there for seven years."

From the look of him, things might not have improved much since then, Tyrion thinks, looking at the man's ragged clothes.

"I will give you gold if you can show me the way," he says standing up.

Vardis steps back in surprise when he registers Tyrion's size.

"I thought you had magic powers," Vardis says, "what do you need me for, when you can creep through places unseen?"

"I think you've been reading the wrong book, I'm afraid I have no magic powers, that's why I need you."

He crosses Vardis's hand with gold. Vardis nods in satisfaction and closes his huge hand around the coins.

"Come, we must go before the sun comes up."

Tyrion pulls his cloak about him and stifles a yawn. He follows Vardis out onto the street and they set off at a brisk pace. Tyrion must run to keep up with him. When they hear footsteps, they hide in the shadows between the buildings, watching some men walk past.

"The walls have ears," Vardis whispers in his ear dramatically. "They are probably looking for you already."

Tyrion is relieved when they are on their way again. Vardis cuts left and then right, his big lumbering frame fills the narrow alleyways and his footsteps are loud. Tyrion wonders how anyone can fail to hear him coming. He wonders if he can trust Vardis, or if he is leading him straight to Cersei, who will torture him to death. Tyrion is amazed that Vardis hasn't worked out who he is. How many dwarfs can there be in Kings Landing?

Vardis stops short and Tyrion almost bumps into him. Above them, Tyrion sees the Red Keep, rising out of the morning mist like a sinister reminder of all that he hates. But in there is Daenerys and he must find her and rescue her, even if it means confronting his sister again. He is prepared to kill Cersei if he has to.

Tyrion follows Vardis down another alley, but this time Vardis stops and points to an iron grate at the bottom of the wall.

"This is it," he whispers.

Out of breath and dreading the thought of what lies beyond, Tyrion watches as Vardis removes the grate.

"Come."

Vardis holds out his hand. Tyrion peers down into the dark depths reluctantly.

"Are you sure this is the way?" he asks apprehensively.

In reply Vardis grabs his hands and lowers him down through the gap. Tyrion kicks his feet in terror, feeling nothing beneath them, then suddenly Vardis lets him go. He tumbles through the air, falling, down, down, then just as quickly lands in deep water with an almighty splash. He comes up for air, gasping and spluttering as Vardis lands beside him, causing a tidal wave that sweeps him towards a dimly lit tunnel. Suddenly he is caught as Vardis grabs him and pulls him towards the edge and they clamber out. Coughing, Tyrion lies back on the cold stone, shivering with shock.

"Did you really have to do that?" he demands.

"It was the only way."

"But what if I couldn't swim?"

Vardis shrugs.

Tyrion sighs heavily and gets up. He tries to ignore the smell. He knows where they are, in the sewers beneath the city. If he doesn't die of shock, then he will surely die from an unpleasant disease. He spots a rat, scurrying away in the dark, and hurries after Vardis.

They walk for miles through endless tunnels, as the water cascades past them, only feet away. Sometimes it is so dark that he doesn't know where to walk. He stays close to Vardis, touching the wall with his hands, feeling his way. Then they stop.

"This is it," Vardis says, tapping the wall with his knuckles.

Slowly and very quietly, he starts to remove the stones one by one, placing them at Tyrion's feet. Soon the hole is big enough to crawl through.

"You can go first this time," Tyrion says wisely.

"Very well."

Vardis crawls through and Tyrion follows him. The air is cold and damp, but there is more light coming through a window at the far end of the corridor. Tyrion knows where they are, they are near the dungeons of the Red Keep. They are near to Daenerys. For the first time, Tyrion feels hope in his heart.

"Who goes there?"

A guard accosts them, appearing out of nowhere. Before Tyrion has time to draw his sword, Vardis knocks the man out cold with his huge fist. They hurry on, as Tyrion feels a chill in his soul as he remembers the night he killed his father. He remembers Shae in his father's bed-chamber, calling for her 'lion' before he strangled her with Tywin's chain. Sometimes revenge is not sweet.

Vardis stops, gesturing for Tyrion to be quiet. Ahead of them, there are voices, three men at least, maybe four. Tyrion watches Vardis pull out a dagger. Tyrion wants to tell him that they will be no match for them, but Vardis moves away from him, towards the voices. Tyrion grabs his dagger feeling his hand tremble as they approach the men.

Then Vardis is upon them, cursing as he violently attacks them. Tyrion steps in to help him and the dagger of dragon glass, cuts through the air, meeting its target with little effort from him.

They move on, taking the keys from the guard's belt. As Vardis deftly turns the key in the lock and the heavy door swings open, Tyrion knows that Daenerys is here. Beyond, lies the cells, the very same place he was incarcerated to await his trial.

Feverishly, he runs to the first cell looking through the bars, trying to make out who is slumped on the floor inside.

"Daenerys!" he calls in a stage whisper.

The bundle stirs, then sits up. It is not her. He runs to the next. Behind him, as the prisoners wake up, they start to plead to be let out. Tyrion wishes they would be quiet. Then, eventually, he sees her, chained to the wall, her face eerily pale in the dim light, her silver hair matted around her shoulders.

Vardis unlocks the cell.

"My Queen?"

Tyrion bends down beside her.

"Tyrion, is that you?"

"It is my lady."

She smiles at him weakly.

Vardis finds the key and releases her from her chains. Deanery's stands up feebly, holding onto Tyrion's shoulder for support. Tyrion helps her to the door of the cell, but they are slow, too slow. Before he can point this out however, Vardis lifts her onto his shoulder like she is a sack of grain and walks towards the exit. The prisoners clamour to be released, banging on their doors and shouting. Tyrion knows they will be discovered any minute. As they enter the corridor, they hear the guards coming. Vardis turns left suddenly, into a small annex and they hide there as a group of guards run by towards the cells. They creep out when the danger has passed and continue on their way, turning down familiar corridors, and crawling back through the wall into the sewers. Together they quickly fill in the hole with the stones. Just as they have finished they hear footsteps on the other side and freeze. Angry voices fill the air, as the noise of dozens of feet tramp backwards and forwards, searching for their enemy who appears to have disappeared into thin air.

When the danger has passed, Vardis tries to lift Deanery's onto his back again, but she fights him off.

"Unhand me sir," she hisses. "I can walk."

They retrace their steps back to where the sunlight streams through above their heads, the way back into Kings Landing, impossible to reach. Vardis gestures to the dimly lit tunnel, the one that Tyrion was almost swept into.

"It's a different way out," Vardis explains.

"Promise me, no more surprises," Tyrion insists.

"No problem, you told me you can swim little man!"

Vardis shoves Tyrion into the water before he can protest, and the current takes him, swirling around him, carrying him faster and faster down the tunnel, towards the light. He tries to grab the walls as they fly past, but it is impossible. Then suddenly he is spat out into a small bay, beneath the Red Keep and he swims for the shore, fighting the current that threatens to carry him out into the open sea. He climbs ashore panting and gasping. Minutes later he sees Vardis swimming towards him with Daenerys and he helps to pull her ashore. She slumps towards him and he puts his arms around her as they shiver together, trying to get warm.

"We must go," Vardis says, pointing to the Red Keep. "They will find us here."

"Wait," Daenerys says.

She struggles to her feet and puts her puts her fingers to her temples and closes her eyes.

"What is she doing?" Vardis asks.

"Summoning her dragon," Tyrion says.

Vardis laughs, an odd high-pitched sound that doesn't suit his huge frame.

"My dragon is near," Daenerys says urgently, raising her arms in the air and babbling in a strange outlandish language.

"Dragons and dwarfs," Vardis laughs, "I've heard it all now."

"Yes, but have you _seen_ it?" Tyrion asks.

Vardis stops suddenly as he spots Rhaegal appear out of the clouds and swoop down towards them. With a high-pitched scream of terror, he runs away as Rhaegal lands beside them shattering several rocks with his gigantic claws.

"I don't think he likes dragons," Daenerys says as she climbs onto Rhaegal's back.

As Tyrion follows her, holding onto the creature's scales, he doesn't admit to her that he is afraid too. As they climb up into the sky, Tyrion looks down at the Red Keep getting smaller and smaller beneath them. He can't believe that he has saved Daenerys from Cersei. She will be so mad when she finds out that Daenerys is missing. He allows himself a smile.


	15. Chapter 16

There is a storm over the camp. Dark clouds gather and the flimsy canvas tents flap and tear in the wind. Jon watches the sky as another bolt of forked lightening lights the night. The thunder is deafening. How will they hear the approach of the White Walkers? It's like the very gods are angry.

"My lord."

Jon turns at the sound of the familiar voice. He is overjoyed to see Sam after all this time. They embrace each other warmly.

"I thought it was time I paid you a visit," Sam says smiling broadly.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to safety with Gilly. I'm glad you have come, although I fear this is not a safe place to be."

Sam shrugs and laughs.

"I may as well take my chances with you as with my books."

Jon claps Sam on the arm and laughs too.

"I think you may have cause to regret that decision."

Sam clears his throat and looks serious.

"I am here on a different matter," he says. "I need to tell you something, something I have discovered, something that links you with the Targaryen dynasty."

"I know."

"What do you know?"

"I know who I am, Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

"How did you - - ?"

"Bran saw it in a vision. He told me."

"And? What are you going to do?"

Jon frowns, looking at Sam.

"I don't know."

"You have to tell Daenerys."

"I can't. She is going to have our child."

Sam looks happy, then confused.

"I love her," Jon says desperately, "but this will change everything between us. She has always believed that she is the heir to the throne and now it could be me. She is so determined, so sure about her claim, don't you see? Who am I but a jumped-up bastard with aspirations? Not a King."

"But you are the King!" Sam says vehemently. "Rhaegar was heir to the throne and after his death it should have passed to his eldest son, which is you. You Jon. You _are_ the King whether Daenerys likes it or not!"

"And Daenerys, what is her claim to the throne? Why is that not as strong?"

"Rhaegar was Daenerys older brother, so it follows that his male son will be the first in line."

Jon paces backwards and forwards. He runs his hand through his thick hair. Then he stops.

"And our child?"

"Your child will rule the Seven Kingdoms when his time comes, his blood will be Targaryen and Stark. He will have a loyalty and affinity with both great families, which will save the kingdom from endless fighting and bloodshed. Don't you see Jon? This is a gift. It is your gift to the Seven Kingdoms with Daenerys. Only good will come of this. Daenerys will be pleased when she understands the baby's lineage."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Tell her, please. Or else I will."

Sam doesn't smile and Jon wonders if he is joking. Maybe that would solve his problem; get Sam to tell Daenerys. Hasn't Sam come all this way to share the news? But Jon knows it is no use. He will have to tell her.

"I'll just wait for the right moment," he says, facing Sam. "But now is not the right time, right before a battle. She needs to command her dragons - -"

" _Your_ dragons. Haven't you ever wondered why they haven't turned you into a heap of ash? Why it is that you can ride a dragon like Rhaegal, understand it like no one else, accept Daenerys?"

"Daenerys is teaching me."

"Is she? Who is teaching _who_?"

Jon thought about all the times that he had stared into Rhaegal's eyes and felt a connection, almost timeless, unexplained. Something moved within him; a knowledge of flames, a stirring so deep, like being reborn. He knows that there is something hidden in the very heart of him, a secret, but he is scared to let it out. He wants to share this feeling with Daenerys. He knows that she understands. But she is proud.

"Just give me time," Jon insists, "I will tell her."

"Good, but don't leave it too long."

Jon nods and watches Sam's departing figure, his unassuming large frame, squeezing through the gap in the canvas to face the storm and promise of some food. He thinks, _Sam doesn't understand_. Daenerys whole existence is based on her need to be on the Iron Throne. She believes that she is the rightful heir and she will not want to believe the rantings of his mad, crippled brother or the scholarly musings of his best friend. No, as usual, he is completely alone, and he must act by his own volition.

Sighing, Jon peers out at the black sky, the rain like icy rivers of revenge.


	16. Chapter 20

The sun rises over the sea, casting a line of yellow over the calm water. Jon feels the sea air fan his face and pulls his cloak around him. They left White Harbour two days ago and are on their way to Kings Landing to face Cersei. He has lost so many men in the battle with the White Walkers he doesn't know how they will survive another battle. He has word that the dragons are alive, but without Daenerys to look after them, their fate is uncertain. So, he must prepare for a battle with no dragons and a tired and diminished army.

Jon looks at Tyrion, as he stands, his feet planted wide to steady himself on the deck beside him. He feels of wave affection towards him, remembering Tyrion's words of wisdom after the battle, telling him that he will be the king. But does he want it? Does he deserve it? His journey has been long and painful, but he isn't sure he is worthy of it. Has he suffered as much as Daenerys in his pursuit of greatness? He has made mistakes, made enemies, enough for them to want to kill him. He touches the scars on his chest through his shirt. There is a darkness in him, Melisandre made sure of that. It is unfair to Daenerys; he wasn't meant to be here. He shouldn't have survived.

"My Lord," Tyrion says, pointing at something in the distance. "It looks like we've got company."

Jon puts the eyeglass to his eye and makes out the flag of the Iron Born.

"Yara Greyjoy has decided to support us," he says, feeling relieved.

Tyrion smiles.

"Cersei won't like that."

Jon nods, but he doesn't smile. Tyrion is not a seasoned fighter like he is, he doesn't understand the brutality of war the way he does. Sometimes he wonders if there are really winners and losers, when there is only death and destruction.

He thinks about Daenerys; he cannot stop thinking about her. Since the battle, he has been constantly by her side. He feels the strange spell that she casts over him when she stares at him with her crystal-clear blue eyes, it's almost as if she can see inside him and knows what he is thinking. There is a deeper connection between them he knows, a blood connection. Only yesterday, he almost told her as he lay down next to her, careful not to hurt her bruised body as he embraced her, what he was really thinking.

"Dany," he began tentatively, smoothing her rich, white blonde hair away from her neck so he could kiss her there. "There is so much about each other that we don't know."

"I know all I need to know," she said quietly.

"Do you?"

He leaned on his arm to look at her and she blinked up at him.

"I trust you," she said, tracing her finger down his cheek, "we have no secrets from each other."

Jon cleared his throat. This was it. There was no better time than this. Suddenly Dany's eyes filled with tears.

"What is it?" Jon asked. "Is it the baby?"

He placed his hand tentatively upon the soft mound of her belly. It was a miracle that the baby had survived.

"No, it's my dragons. I shouldn't have left them behind," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"We had to leave them; you weren't strong enough."

He kissed her gently, then, as she looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears, he knew he couldn't hurt her. Instead he said,

"I love you Dany, you'll always be my Queen."

She tried to smile.

"I love you too."

So many secrets, so many lies, Jon thinks as he watches the Black Wind with Yara Greyjoy at its helm, join their fleet followed by many other ships. Another day and they will be at Kings Landing and there he will fight for Daenerys and everything that she stands for, and Dany will not know that by winning he has lost.

"My Lord, we have a favourable wind," Tyrion says happily. "We should be there soon, and with the help of Grey Worm and the unsullied, we will succeed."

Grey worm and the un-sullied are like obedient dogs, doing what Daenerys bids without question. But without Grey Worm, what power does he have? Who would follow him into battle unquestioningly? He has always had to use his powers of persuasion to get the armies of the North to back him, to do the right thing. Where he has insubordination, Daenerys has undying obedience. With or without dragons, she is a force to be reckoned with.

"When I was a boy," Tyrion says, oblivious to Jon's pain, "my father wanted me out of his sight, hidden away. If he could see me now, sailing into battle with a fleet of ships behind me, against my own sister, no less, I think he would have been proud! Perhaps I am my father's son after all, a warmonger, and a blood-thirsty tyrant."

"Is that something to be proud of?"

Tyrion chuckles, rubbing his hands together.

"I think so. I've come a long way since those days of constant insults and degradation."

"And are you happy?"

Tyrion looks at Jon with concern.

"Happiness is overrated."

"Is it?"

Tyrion shrugs and looks away.

"Sometimes it is better to tell someone the truth than to live your life hiding it. Never forget who you are. I've always owned up to who I am."

Jon wishes he could believe him. This honesty has worked well for Tyrion, but can it work well for him? He grips the railing and stares at the horizon as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

Tomorrow all will be revealed, one way or another.


	17. Chapter 19

Battle of Ice and Fire.

It is time. Jon sits astride his dragon, Rhaegal and looks across at Daenerys astride Drogon. He looks at her profile as she stares down into the valley at the approaching White Walkers. She doesn't look afraid. His heart beats like thunder in his ears as he tries to spot the Night King on his wight horse, but he can't see him. Jon stares nervously up into the sky, trying to spot the wight dragon Viserion. What match are they for the undead? He knows the score, they have dragon glass and Valyrian Steel and dragons, but the White Walkers have the numbers, the endless energy to keep fighting, to never tire, to never rest until they are all dead. Jon knows that unless they are clever, can outwit the Night King, the undead will keep on coming and will never be stopped.

Daenerys gives the signal and Jon's dragon lifts slowly into the sky, followed by Drogon. Below them the Dothraki begin their charge against the White Walkers, accompanied by eerie battle cries. Melisandre has lit their weapons with fire and Daenerys and Jon signal to their dragons to attack the undead with dragon fire. Again, and again Rhaegal rains down fire onto the White Walkers, killing them. The Dothraki do not seem to be holding back the onslaught as the undead just keep walking, closer and closer to the encampment. Suddenly out of the mist, the Night King appears riding Viserion. Jon follows Daenerys lead and they fly up above the clouds, higher and higher. The Night King follows. Swooping and lunging, Jon's dragon avoids the blue fire of Viserion. Although it is two against one, Viserion is stronger. Suddenly, Viserion crashes into Rhaegal, sending him spiralling out of the sky with Jon holding on. He feels his arms being almost ripped out of their sockets as they dive towards the ground. Is this it, Jon wonders. Is this how it ends? Suddenly Daenerys appears and helps Rhaegal to land. He is too wounded too fly. Jon climbs onto Drogon, next to Daenerys and they fly back to the encampment, however as they try to land, they see that it is overrun by the undead. They fly on, to high ground.

"Please, stay here out of danger," he begs Daenerys, thinking of his child inside her.

"No, I must fight," she tells him, kissing him quickly. "Viserion is _my_ dragon and I must kill him."

They can hear the high-pitched screech as Viserion comes closer, then just before Drogon leaves the ground, Daenerys pushes Jon so that he falls. He lies stunned, watching Daenerys ascend towards Viserion and the Night King. He sees the streak of blue flame as the two dragons collide and he clutches the handle of Longclaw imagining plunging it into the Night King's heart. He tries to see what is happening, but they are obscured by clouds.

"Come."

Melisandre stands before him, beckoning him with her hand.

"Where?" Jon asks.

"To safety."

"No, I must stay here and fight."

"I was sent to protect you."

"Well I don't need your protection."

Melisandre smiles and as she does so, the two dragons both crash to the ground below them. Both are mortally wounded. He cannot see Daenerys, but through the mist, he sees the Night King climb onto his wight horse and start to ride in his direction.

"You see," Melisandre says, "he is coming for you alone."

Jon brandishes his sword, holding his ground.

"You must fight fire with fire."

Melisandre touches his sword and it bursts into flames. Only seconds later, the Night King appears, regal, proud and deadly. Melisandre lifts her hand and a bolt of flame knocks him from his horse. The Night King gets up and walks towards Jon, slowly, almost ponderously. Jon holds his sword, waiting for the right moment. Then just as the Night King reaches him, Melisandre stands between them and raises her arms to defend him, but before she has time the Night King thrusts his sword into her and she collapses to the ground in a tangle of clothes and dust. Jon raises his sword and brings it down on the Night King's sword and they circle each other thrusting and diving. The Night King's sword glows with a strange blue light, while Jon's sparks with flames every time they clash. Jon is getting out of breath, but the Night King doesn't waver, doesn't halt. Again, and again, their swords clang together as Jon tries to fend him off, stepping back further and further towards the edge of the cliff. He knows he must hold his ground, or he will fall, but it seems impossible. The cliffs are behind him now, he feels the winds blowing up from the valley below. It is now or never.

He thrusts with all his might and as his sword imbeds into the Night King's chest, he sees the blue sword cut through the air to strike him down. He feels the waft of air against his hair, as the sword almost makes impact, then disintegrates into shards of ice. The Night King's face and shoulders shatter, then his arms and body and legs, creating a mound of ice, leaving Jon standing with his sword in his hands, victorious.

Jon turns and plunges his sword back into his sheath. It is over. He hurries down the hill, stumbling over rocks in his desperation to get to Daenerys. He passes the bodies of the wights, all dead, thousands of them, as he runs towards the motionless bodies of the dragons.

"Dany!" he shouts to the wind, but it is unnervingly quiet.

He reaches Drogon. A few metres away, Daenerys lies, completely still. He bends down and pulls her lifeless form against him. Kisses her face and hair. Tries to breath life into her, but it is no use.

"My lord?"

In his grief, Jon doesn't hear Tyrion for a moment.

"My life is futile!" he cries as Tyrion comes closer.

Tyrion reaches down to touch his shoulder.

"Not futile, my lord. Without you, there would be only winter forever, only fear and pain. You have released us from darkness."

"There is only darkness in my soul."

"But time will pass," Tyrion says wisely. "You will forget her, as will I."

Tyrion wipes a tear from his eye.

"You loved her too?"

Jon gazes up at the little man, silhouetted against the setting sun. Tyrion nods.

"Silly, I know."

"No, not silly. She was the bravest of them all. The strongest. What will I do now without her?"

Tyrion stares at Jon.

"You will survive, like you always do, and one day, you will be the King, not just of the North, but of the Seven Kingdoms. You will rule and be a fair, brave king, not mad, like others before you."

"And Cersei?"

"You will defeat her too."

"How do you know?"

Tyrion shrugs and holds out his hand to Jon.

"How do I know anything? I am no worse than other men, but I am loyal and clever, and my dear sister is clever too, but she is rash, she makes mistakes. Together we will outwit Cersei."

At the sound of Cersei's name, Daenerys moans.

"Dany!"

Jon laughs in disbelief, kissing her face, her neck.

"She lives!"

Jon stands, holding Daenerys in his arms.

"It's a miracle!" Jon says, ecstatically.

"It may have been better for you if she had not lived," Tyrion says eventually. "It would be easier for you to leave her here and say she was slain in battle. You know the truth of your birth as well as I do and now, she will have to know it too."

"Good," Jon says defiantly, "and I will tell her myself."

"Will you?" Tyrion asks sceptically.

"Yes, I love her, I will not leave her here to die."

They start the long walk back to the camp, but Tyrion does not speak. He is thinking.

The war is not over yet.


	18. Chapter 18

Tyrion strains to hear the conversation from his hiding place, but the wind whistles so violently through the camp he only hears snatches of words. Melisandre stands beside Jon, her red hair billowing out behind her, while Jon listens intently.

"White Walkers. _The Prince that was promised_."

The words don't make sense to Tyrion. Who is the Prince that was promised? Is she talking about the Night King? Surely not, for he is a King, not a Prince. Does she mean Jon? That must be it. Jon a Prince? How can that be? A Prince to Daenerys the Queen? Yes, that must be it.

He waits to see if he can hear anything else, but Jon moves further away, and their words are lost in the gale. Tyrion watches as Melisandre watches Jon, a satisfied look on her face. Then before he has time, she turns to look at him. Tyrion jumps back into his hiding place, feeling like a child, caught in the act. How silly of him to think that he can spy on Melisandre without her knowing!

"Tyrion?"

Tyrion steps out of his hiding place, attempting to smile.

"Ah, Melisandre, we meet again."

"Do not fear, little man," she says, in a way that doesn't make Tyrion feel any better. "All will be revealed; it is no secret."

"If it isn't a secret, why don't you tell me?" Tyrion asks almost flirtatiously, looking up at the beautiful woman who stands before him, finding it hard to believe that she has such supernatural powers that she can bring dead men back to life.

Melisandre smiles.

"I will die here," she says, "fighting for the true King."

"Don't you mean the true Queen?"

"No, I mean Jon Snow, I was sent here to protect him."

"What you are saying is treason," Tyrion says angrily.

"It is not treason when it is the truth. Come, I will explain it to you."

Before Tyrion can protest, Melisandre wraps her cloak around him and he is buried deep in the warm folds of the fabric. He feels light-headed, almost faint as she whispers strange words in his ears, like music, like the tinkle of bells. His head feels heavy, his eyes close and everything whirls and spins.

When he opens his eyes, Melisandre has gone. He hurries back to Daenerys thinking about what he will say to her, but it is only when he is standing in front of her that he realises he cannot untangle the jumble of his thoughts.

"Well?" she snaps.

"Your Grace," he says, bowing deeply, playing for time. "I must confess, I found it very hard to overhear what they were saying."

"And?"

Daenerys places her hands on her hips, looking pale and agitated, her blue eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"I – I'm afraid I - -."

Tyrian shakes his head; it feels like it is stuffed with muslin. He cannot get his ideas straight.

"The Red Queen, she has bewitched me," he says desperately.

"I'm getting tired of this," Daenerys says, her voice rising. "You are supposed to be my advisor, my ears and eyes, but you fail to tell me anything I don't already know, accept to try to pretend that the witch has put a spell on you."

Tyrion doesn't speak, knowing that there are times when he should keep his own counsel.

"Are you a man?" she mocks, looking him up and down. "Why don't you prove it by serving me like one, rather than being ineffectual and weak? Must I do everything myself?"

Tyrion feels deeply hurt, knowing that Daenerys has used the one thing against him which she knows will hurt him most of all.

"My Lady - -, I feel that - -"

"I have no time for feelings!" she shouts. "Find out what that Red Bitch wants with Jon. Do it, or else I'll find someone else who can."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Tyrian bows and moves backwards, desperate to get out of there, to clear his thoughts, but everything is murky and dark.

Outside, he leans heavily against a post, feeling his body tremble as he tries to remember what happened. The only thing he has is his brain, that is his power. He doesn't have strength, or the ability to inspire awe in his men the way Jon does. If Melisandre has taken that away from him then he is nothing.

"Tyrion?"

At Jon's voice, Tyrian turns to look at him. His legs buckle beneath him and he finds himself kneeling before him.

"What are you doing? Get up!" Jon orders.

"I can't."

Tyrion feels Jon's hands under his arms, pulling him upwards. When he is standing Tyrion gasps. Upon Jon's head he sees an iron crown, the same one that he saw Cerys wearing the last time he saw her.

"What is it?" Jon asks as Tyrian continues to stare at him.

"It is you!" Tyrion splutters.

"What?"

"You are the King!"

Jon tries to smile, to pretend that he doesn't know what Tyrion is talking about, but then he gives up.

"How do you know?"

"Melisandre. I know everything, she told me everything about your Mother and Father and your connection to the Targaryen clan, but when I tried to tell Daenerys, I couldn't."

"She doesn't need to know."

"I think she has a right to know."

"It won't help right now. I will tell her, but not yet. After the battle."

"What are you afraid of?" Tyrian asks, feeling a chill in his heart.

"I command you not to speak of this with the Queen," Jon says hurriedly, avoiding the question. "We must concentrate on the battle to come."

Tyrian bows his head slightly.

"That won't be a problem, my lord."

There is no chance of him telling Daenerys, because Melisandre has made it impossible. As he watches Jon stride away, he understands why she has done it. To protect Jon. Like the Mad King before her, who burnt his enemies, surrounded in a haze of paranoia and Targaryen madness, what is to stop Daenerys from killing Jon, destroying everyone that she loves the most when she realises that she cannot get what she wants? But Daenerys is not like that, Tyrion tries to convince himself, she is different, compassionate.

Tyrion shakes his head sadly and looks up at dark clouds racing across a melancholy sky. Will any of this matter if they all die?


	19. Chapter 17

Daenerys caresses the soft mound of her belly, thinking about her child. She thinks about the midwife's prophesy, wondering how it could have been so wrong.

" _When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child, then he will return and not before."_

Who will return? Drogo? She knows that cannot be, he is dead, so how can she bear a child? Daenerys has been so sure that House Targaryen will end with her, but now she isn't so sure. She tries not to think about her still-born child with Drogo, so long ago, and the way she put all her maternal love into her dragons, but she is afraid. What if the prophesy is true and she is unable to hold onto this child with Jon? Perhaps the Gods will be angry with her, for sleeping with Jon, loving him the way she does? Maybe their child will be snatched away from them as a punishment, because she dared to join Stark with Targaryen.

Daenerys sighs, bored with tormenting herself. She knows she should be with Jon, helping him with the battle plans, but she feels so distracted. She lays on the bed feeling sick and tired, worrying about the future, if they have a future, imagining the White Walkers approaching step by step, the slow relentless walk towards death. She doesn't want to die, doesn't want her baby to die.

"Dany?"

She turns at Jon's voice, so glad to see him as he enters the room, his hair wind-swept, dark curls in his eyes. She reaches out her arms to him and he enfolds her in his, so warm, so secure. He strokes her hair and kisses her gently and she feels only desire for this man, this living breathing man who has claimed her as his own. Her eyes fill with tears and she struggles to hide them, hating herself for her weakness.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Nothing," she lies.

"Tell me."

"Just that I am so happy that I'm sometimes afraid that I have no right to be."

"Of course, you do."

Jon kisses her fondly, and she stares up into his dark eyes, trying to share in his calm confidence. He doesn't know about the still-born baby with Drogo and she doesn't want to tell him. It seems like such a long time ago, in another life. The only life she wants now is to be here with Jon, loving him.

"Dany - -?

Jon stops as if he is about to say something, then changes his mind.

"All that matters is that we are together as a family when you are on the Iron Throne," he says, almost to himself.

Daenerys nods, moving her fingers into the slight hollow of his chest through the opening in his shirt. He grasps her hand through the thin material and smiles.

"I must get back," he murmurs.

"Not yet," she breaths.

They kiss again deeply, and he lowers her gently down onto the bed. She feels his strength through his clothes, his warmth, moving her hands along his arms, feeling how the muscles tense and relax. Her pulse quickens and she holds him close to her, wrapping her legs around his body.

"Ahem, my lord?"

Jon pulls away from her at the sound of Tyrion clearing his throat. Angrily, Daenerys sits up, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Tyrion jokes, "indeed, I would have waited longer if I could, but it is urgent."

"Yes?" Jon snaps at him, dragging a hand through his hair.

"The Red Woman is here."

"What does she want?"

"Well if I knew that - -," Tyrion stops when he sees Jon's expression. "She wants to talk to you."

Jon sighs loudly, but there is fear in his eyes.

"Will I show her in?" Tyrion asks. "She says she has an important message for you."

"For Jon?" Daenerys asks, a look of confusion on her face.

"It's ok," Jon says uneasily, getting up. "Wait here, I will talk to her."

"Whatever it is, concerns me too," Daenerys insists.

"Yes, but we have had prior dealings, I owe her an audience for what she did for me."

"Alone?" Daenerys asks.

"Yes."

Daenerys watches Jon leave the tent, his face alert and anxious. She wonders what the Red Woman wants so urgently, just before the battle.

"Tyrion," she orders, "go with them and stay close. I want to know what the red witch has to say to him."

Tyrion bows almost mockingly.

"So, you want me to _spy_ on them?"

"Just do as I say!" she hisses angrily.

"Yes, my lady."

Tyrion hurries out after Jon.

Daenerys waits until she cannot bear it any longer, then she slowly lowers her bare feet over the side of the bed, fighting the nausea that rises in her throat. It is time she stopped letting Jon take command. She is Queen here.


	20. Chapter 15

Jon watches the first light of dawn creep over the mountain to the east. He thinks about the battle ahead, but he also thinks about Daenerys. Although she is weak, she is also strong. Since her return, he has watched her slowly regain her strength, summoning Tyrion to her side and discussing tactics for the battle. He knows he has been distant with her and it is his fault. He knows too much. He was once content to bend the knee if it meant saving the North, but now he isn't so sure. He watches her pouring over the maps, her long white hair falling forwards so that she must brush it angrily away. He sees her ambition and her drive, and it troubles him. Winterfell has already fallen so they must head south. All around him he sees destruction and death. With Daenerys as Queen he knows this will continue, but he has made a promise to her. She will be his Queen. He tries not to think of Bran's words that he is Aegon Targaryen, true heir to the Iron Throne. He imagines himself on the throne, sitting in the great hall, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. How can it be true?

He was so angry with Tyrion when he arrived back with Daenerys.

"My lord, it was not my fault," Tyrion protested, "I have little control over the Queen, as you know, or for that matter her dragons."

"I told you not to bring her back here!" Jon shouted, unable to control his rage.

"But why not?" Tyrion asked. "We have a surgeon on hand, and we need our Queen. She is strong, you will see. She will recover here just as well as in Kings Landing, besides if that is where the White Walkers are heading then she is better off away from that place."

"But don't _you_ see?" Jon demanded. "She was safer there."

Tyrion looked confused and Jon knew he wasn't making any sense. How would Daenerys be safer in Kings Landing with Cersei hunting her down and the White Walkers at the door? As Jon paced backwards and forwards outside the tent, Tyrion bowed his head.

"Then all I can do is apologise, my lord."

"Very well, go back to your men."

Without waiting to see Tyrion's reaction, Jon pulled back the canvas and went back inside. He knew he was being unfair as he looked at Daenerys sleeping in his bed, her hands tucked under her chin. Since her return their love-making had been passionate, but he wanted her to know who was in control.

The sky is red, like a warning. Above him, an eagle circles hunting for prey. Jon imagines the White Walkers on their slow, relentless march south destroying everything in their path. He has faced them before, and he will do so again.

Back at the camp, Daenerys has already left his bed. He looks at the rumpled sheets, remembering their first night together after she returned. Such passion and tenderness. Jon knows he must go to his men, but he lingers, touching the place where Daenerys slept, still warm from her body. He is full of conflicts and doubts. He wishes that Sam was here, his friend, who he can confide in. He imagines Sam's face when he tells him the truth. He won't believe it. He touches his chest, beneath his shirt, feeling the slightly raised edges of the scar over his heart. Was he supposed to live? Was that why he came back to life? What cruel joke is this? Making him bend the knee to Daenerys, making him love her. None of it makes sense.

"Jon, there you are!"

Jon turns to see Daenerys and his heart gives a leap. He cannot help it. When she puts her arms around him, he feels a rush of desire. She is like a temptress bewitching him. Her mouth is soft, her body yielding. Maybe she planned all of this. To make him want her, like an adolescent boy, not like a man.

"Jon, what is it?"

Jon realises he is gripping her shoulders and releases her.

"Sorry."

Daenerys looks at him quizzically and smiles. She touches his face gently, smoothing down the thick dark curls at the side of his head.

"I have something important to tell you," she says softly. "I'm going to have your child."

"What?"

"Here."

Daenerys guides his hand down to the soft curve of her belly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. He must be strong; Cersei couldn't beat him out of me."

Jon kisses her again, feeling a rush of happiness, then fear. His child, his blood intertwined with Daenerys. Targaryen and Stark blood, just like the blood that moves through his veins.

"Are you happy?" she asks, looking for reassurance.

"Yes, of course I am."

Jon smiles, holding her tightly against him. He knows he must tell her, but it can wait. The daylight shines through a chink in the canvas of the tent, glinting on the handle of his sword. There is a battle to be won.


	21. Chapter 21

Jon stands before the Iron Throne looking at the thousands of swords moulded into shape, surrendered by the Aegon the conqueror's enemies. He doesn't dare to sit on it, but he wants to. He waits for Daenerys. The Queen.

It has been a hard battle, but soon the city was defeated, with the superior power of the dragons, and the unsullied. They have been valiant in their victory, and compassionate. When Jon heard the bell ringing, he ordered that the battle be stopped. There has been enough death. The city is still largely intact. Daenerys will rule over Kings landing and she will gain their trust and admiration.

"Jon?"

He turns, relieved to see her. Daenerys is panting, out of breath, her hair covered with a fine, grey dust. She looks at the throne and her eyes gleam with excitement. He has the sudden urge to block her path, to prevent her from moving towards it. To hide his inclination, he goes to her and enfolds her in his arms.

"You see?" he says as cheerfully as he can muster, "I knew it would work out!"

She laughs up at him, delighted by his simple turn of phrase.

"And you have been a most brave and dedicated warrior."

"Thank you."

"But now, there is something important I must do."

She pulls away from him, but he stops her.

"There's something I have to tell you."

"What?" she asks, still smiling.

"It's about my parents," he says slowly, wondering how he is going to explain this to her. "They are not who I thought they were."

"Who are they then?"

Daenerys stops smiling.

"Well, that's the thing. It turns out that I'm not Ned Stark's bastard, I'm the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen who were secretly married. Bran told me, he saw it in a vision, then Sam confirmed it. My true name is Aegon Targaryen."

Daenerys blinks up at him, then bursts out laughing.

"What? Aegon Targaryen? What game is this?"

"It's no game," Jon says seriously. "It's the truth."

"Don't toy with me," she says, suddenly angry. "If it's true, why have you waited until now to tell me?"

"Because I knew what was at stake. I thought that if you knew that I was the true heir to the Iron Throne, you wouldn't support me in this battle."

"True heir?" she said mockingly, "who told you that?"

"I am the oldest born son of Rhaegar Targaryen, that makes me the heir."

"And I am Khaleesi, the unburnt, the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons. _I_ am the true Queen."

They are eyeball to eyeball, staring at each other. Jon realises that he is gripping the handle of his sword.

"Our child will continue our line," he almost pleads, "He will succeed to the throne one day. We must live for him, do everything in our power to keep him safe."

"Or she, it could be a girl."

"Yes," he says smiling at the thought.

"And now?" Daenerys asks, "who will sit on the throne now?"

The air around them is acrid and stale. Fires burn below them in the city, making the air thick with smoke.

"Dany, please. Don't do this."

Daenerys eyes fill with tears.

"I love you," she says, "but all of this," she waves to the destruction all around them, "I did for my people."

"Are you sure?"

Daenerys swallows and a tear escapes down her cheek. She nods, believing her own doctrine.

"Isn't it true that you were often driven by revenge? A way to get back at all the men who have mistreated you, beaten you and overpowered you? But I'm not like that Dany. I am on your side. I adore you and would never hurt you. I would protect you and love you until the day I die."

"I don't need protecting!" she yells, backing away from him. "I have my dragons, the unsullied, I am a Queen, a warrior, I will never bend the knee to any man, including you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"You're not?"

"No."

Daenerys looks at him quizzically.

"What do you propose then?"

"I propose that we share the throne until our child is old enough to rein. We will guard the throne, keep it safe, until then."

"No, I have a better idea."

Daenerys closes her eyes and slowly raises her hands into the air. There is a whooshing sound on the wind, then suddenly Drogo appears over the rooftops, majestically descending towards them. He lands heavily, making Jon jump back. Drogo's green eyes gleam as he looks at Jon. Daenerys speaks to the dragon in a strange tongue that Jon still doesn't understand. Jon feels his heart begin to pound. Are these his last moments alive?

Slowly the dragon looks at Daenerys, then Jon as they stand a few feet apart. Slowly, but surely, the dragon moves towards Jon, who tenses, waiting to die. Then Drogo, lowers his head, his huge jaw coming to rest at Jon's feet so that Jon can reach forward and touch him. Then he realises that the dragon is bowing his head to him.

"He has chosen," Daenerys says. "You are his king."

"What?" Jon asks uncertainly.

Daenerys laughs, a high-pitched slightly hysterical sound.

"I needed to be sure that what you were saying was true, if you really have Targaryen blood in your veins, but I see now that it is true. Perhaps I have always known it. The dragons understood you, even though you didn't know it. They let you ride them, touch them, you weren't afraid of them like other men."

"But I don't need to be King," he said quickly, "we can share."

"How?" Daenerys laughs, "there is only one throne. Come. Sit on the throne, it is yours."

Still, Jon doesn't know if he can believe her. Is this a trap? Drogo lifts his huge head and watches Jon as he walks towards the throne. He climbs up the steps, one by one, feeling the eyes on his back, waiting for the fire to hit him. He turns at the top and faces them. Then he sits.

"I will let you be King," Daenerys says, coming to stand before him, looking up at him, "but I will not bend the knee!"

Jon nods, but he is thinking, 'we'll see about that.'

Tyrion rushes into the room and sees the dragon and Jon upon the throne. He looks confused, but also relieved. He bows deeply.

"Your Grace," he says.

When he stands, Daenerys stares at him. Tyrion bows his head quickly and mumbles,

"Your Grace."

"No Tyrion," Daenerys says quietly. "There is only one king."

"So, you know?"

"Yes."

Tyrion looks nervously towards Drogo then at Jon, then back at Daenerys.

"So, are you satisfied? Or will there be more fighting?"

"No, there will be no more fighting. I am going to have a child, an heir to the Iron Throne and one day she will rule for me."

"She?" asks Tyrion.

"I have seen her in my dreams, fearless, beautiful, she will rule with an iron fist."

Daenerys says this passionately, her eyes sparkling in the burning lights of the city.

"And you will be her hand."

Tyrion bows his head.

"Thankyou."

Daenerys claps her hands and Drogo rises, then swoops up into the sky. As soon as the dragon is gone, there is a sound of many voices and footsteps and suddenly the hall is full of men. The unsullied and the men of Winterfell crowd towards the throne, forcing Daenerys to climb the steps towards Jon. Angry voices fill the air as the unsullied see who is on the throne.

"Stop!"

Daenerys raises her hand in the air.

"It has been decreed that from this day on Jon Targaryen will be King. I relinquish my claim to the Iron Throne. He will be your commander, I order it!"

A hushed silence falls. Then Yara Greyjoy falls to her knee and bows her head.

"Your Grace," she says to Jon.

One by one, all around her the unsullied and war-weary men of Winterfell bend the knee to Jon, their rightful King. Jon stands and gestures for them all to rise.

"I did not ask to be King," he says quietly at first. "But I think it was written in the stars. I hope that I have stood beside you all in battle, for we have come a long way from Winterfell, from Slaver's Bay, from the Iron Islands. We must now stand together to bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms and that will be my motto. No More War!"

"No More War!" the unsullied chant, stamping their spears upon the ground.

"I will be a fair King, a just King. I will learn from the mistakes we have made in the past and try to do better."

There are more cheers.

"And lastly, I will marry the Queen of Dragons, as she will henceforth be called."

"The Queen of Dragons!" the Unsullied chant.

Daenerys smiles and nods.

"Tyrion will be my hand," Jon says, gesturing for Tyrion to join them on the platform.

There is more cheering as Tyrion climbs up the steps and stands beside them smiling gratefully.

"Do you have any words?" Jon asks him.

Tyrion clears his throat and looks thoughtful.

"I am pleased that we can all join together to create peace in this land, but we must still learn to live with each other, to respect each other. As a great friend of mine once said, ' _Any fool with a bit of luck can find himself born into power. But earning it for yourself, that takes work.'_ ****Jon has proven himself to us, not only on the battlefield, but as a man. He has good judgement and inspires respect among his men, in short, he is a King!"

More cheers.

Jon stands up again to speak.

"Let us rejoice now that the war is over. And mourn the dead. We have work to do, to rebuild the kingdom, to return Winterfell to its former glory, and to turn Kings landing into a safe haven for everyone who visits here. We will have a feast to celebrate then we will get down to work, for there is lots of work to be done."

Jon stands beside Daenerys, his arm around her waist, smiling and happy. She leans into him, feels his strength, his quiet confidence. Being with Jon is the only way that she will be content, but it has taken her this long to realise it. In the end it is love, not hate that has saved her, risen her above the tyranny of the Targaryen name, a name that Jon now shares. Love has made her realise who she really is, the Queen of Dragons, yes, but also a Targaryen, Jon's wife and the mother of his child.

The End.


End file.
